Write by Salter -- a blog

By Jeff Salter Delighted to welcome my guest Kelly Martin this weekend — and let y'all see somebody else's sample for a change. Kelly had a mad-dash blog tour Mar. 28th and may have broken a record for the most blogs running in a single day.

I don’t know about her, but I’m exhausted just hearing how many stops were on Kelly’s tour for Saint Sloan, released one month ago.

Without any further ado, here’s Kelly, with an excerpt and her terrific cover.

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By Kelly Martin

I want to thank Jeff SO much for having me on his blog this weekend! Thursday was a big day for me --- a 12 stop one day blog tour extravaganza! (huzzah!) I’m trying to let everyone know about my new novel, Saint Sloan which came out Feb. 28th from Astraea Press (happy dance!)

In it, Sloan Bridges just wants to have the perfect eighteenth birthday. Her attacker has other ideas.

The car slowed at the four-way stop that connected Brown Hollow Road to Highway 70. Sloan tensed, realizing she really was at Aaron’s mercy. If he turned left, he would end up in Nashville. The road straight ahead led to Harrisburg, a very small town with two red lights and three factories that employed most of the people in the county. If he turned right, he would end up in Chapel Hill, Sloan’s desired destination.

The streetlight above the stop sign illuminated the interior of the car just enough for her to see Aaron. He had dark, wavy, almost curly hair a little on the longer side. The front poofed back, most likely with the help of some extra hold gel. If Sloan remembered correctly, it had been curly when they were kids. Aaron was a grade ahead of her and Ray, so she didn’t see him very much at school. He had on a black leather jacket with a black button-down shirt underneath. His olive skin and brown eyes made him look nothing like his half-brother, Ray, who she remembered had blonde hair and blue eyes.

The guys had the same mother but different fathers. Aaron obviously took after his father since Sloan remembered his mother as having sheet-white, pale skin.

Aaron sat up and tapped his fingers on the wheel, looking first to the right, then to the left. “Hmm… which way to go?” From the playful grin he tried to hide, she knew he was kidding… or hoped he was anyway.

“You’d better turn the way that takes me home,” she played along. “I did tell Mackenzie to call the police if she didn’t hear from me. You’ve got about thirty minutes, buddy.”

“I can do a lot in thirty minutes.” He smirked.

“Yeah, like get me home.” Sloan knew she should be leery of him, but she couldn’t be. For some reason, she had a good feeling about him. She prayed that feeling didn’t lead her down the wrong path.

“Oh, all right,” he sighed overdramatically. His big brown eyes shone in the streetlight. “Can’t have the cops after me again,” he said as he turned right toward Chapel Hill.

“Wait.”

“Something wrong?”

“You said you can’t have the cops after you again. What did you do to have them after you before?”

“Which time?” He clearly enjoyed making her uncomfortable.

“There was more than once?” She had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. Little Aaron Hunter had changed a lot in nine years.

“If you thought I was a murderer, you never would have gotten in the car with me.”

“I might have if I thought it was a better alternative than going back to that house and dealing with Darcy Perry.”

He laughed at that. “That bad, huh?”

She shrugged and stared at the black nothingness of acres of farmland outside her window.

He took a deep breath. “I’m not a murderer. Never killed anybody. I was wrongly accused, actually.”

“Of what?”

“Of something I didn’t do.”

He smiled and she glared. “Thanks. That helps a lot.”

“Sorry, it’s just a long story.”

“Tease.” She giggled. Then the more she thought about it, the more curious she became about him. “It had to be rough, though. Being accused of something you didn’t do.”

The fields of tall grass and scattered trees gradually became speckled with the lights of houses the closer they got to town. “It happens. Anyway, I’m not that guy anymore.”

“Saw the light, did you?”

“Not in the found Jesus way. But things happened. I turned eighteen a little over a year ago and had to grow up.”

“I’ll be eighteen on December second.” She couldn’t hold in her excitement. “This Tuesday?”

“Yeah,” she beamed. She had looked forward to this birthday for as long as she could remember. Her mom promised they would go shopping for the car of her dreams. She’d had her license for a while but had to wait two years longer than everyone else she knew for a car. The last few days had seemed like torture.

“Well, let me be the first to wish you a very happy birthday, Sloan Bridges.”

Kelly Martin is a best selling author of young adult fiction. She has two books: Grace Award nominee Crossing The Deep and Amazon Best selling in Teen/Religion Saint Sloan. She has several short stories published and loves to write ‘twitter fiction’ when she’s bored. Kelly loves God, is addicted to chocolate, and would rather write than sleep. You can find her on twitter (she tweets a lot): @martieKay

[It’s well after midnight and very cold outside. After more confusing (and humorous) miscommunications in the police car, Kristen Prima (still in her skimpy, sexy witch costume) and her handsome, as-yet-unnamed, presumed accomplice (dressed as a pirate) are able to convince Cpl. James to stop for coffee. If they can sort things out about being inadvertently locked in the armory and abandoned after the Halloween festival, hopefully they can avoid being booked at the jail. This is the very beginning of Chapter Four.]

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The officer pulled into Dairy Barne’s lot, switched off his engine, and turned to face us. “If I didn’t need to use the can, I’d take you straight downtown. I don’t buy both of you getting locked in but I can’t see a good motive. You better hope your flimsy story checks out.” He exited abruptly, slipped his nightstick its metal loop, and opened the rear door on my side. “No funny business. I’m in no mood to chase down witches and pirates in the middle of the night.” “How far could I go with no money, no jacket, and wearing these?” I pointed to my heels. “Out.” James motioned with his head. I slid over, showing more of my inner thighs that I’d planned for anyone to see ever again, other than at the pool. As I struggled to stand, the officer reached down and unlocked my cuff. Once the buccaneer got out, his restraint was likewise removed. Then, more of his lecture: “We go in, I use the can, we have a coffee, we talk a bit, and I’ll check on your story. Anything goes haywire, and you’ll find out what a Taser feels like.” Neither of us wanted to know. As we entered the Dairy Barne, Corporal James nearly danced with anticipation of the restroom. But he had a problem. We were no longer restrained and I certainly couldn’t enter the men’s room with him. Or so I thought. Corporal James evidently knew the staff here, because all he did was nod in the cashier’s direction and Manager Kurtz nodded back. It didn’t communicate much, but seemingly established that whatever was about to happen was official police business. The officer opened the men’s room door, poked his head around the corner, and called out, “Anybody in here?” Nobody responded, so James stepped back and motioned for us to enter. “In there? With you two guys?” Kurtz had moved to the near end of his counter but did not intercede. “Inside. And hurry.” James nearly squeezed his knees together. “You promised no trouble. Get in… quick.” I shook my head vigorously. The only time I was in a men’s room was at the county stadium after Verdeville won a regional high school championship. All the ladies’ accommodations were occupied with long lines outside, and I had waited long enough. On top of having to deal with the astonished male customers, I’d found the stink overpowering, the grime astounding, and the graffiti unbelievably odious. Having taken care of nature’s call with only three gasps of breath the entire time, I strode from that facility and vowed “never again”. “Inside,” ordered Corporal Bursting Bladder. “Now!” I took a deep breath and darted inside, as though my speed could diminish the shock. Judging from the stench, that restroom was cleaned possibly once a week. Don’t men have a sense of smell? Gauging from the pools of, uh, liquid on the floor, none of the establishment’s male customers could aim into either of the old-fashioned sunken urinals, which seemed to be the driest spots in the entire tiled floor. I stood as near the door as I could and faced the wall. James was already taking care of business. When the sound of the cop’s urine stream began to make me feel faint, I whacked the air dryer button with my elbow to partly mask the noise. Didn’t help much and hurt my elbow besides. The corporal completed his primary task and moved to the sinks to rinse his hands. Didn’t use any soap. I had taken about four breaths this entire time and each was partly screened by the black satin of my collar when I pulled it up. When James finally opened the door I burst out like a school kid beginning recess. Everybody in the Dairy Barne watched intently, including the family with three young children. No one could have known exactly what transpired behind that door, but everyone would realize we weren’t in there long enough for it to have been anything much. Kurtz nodded. It probably meant, Okay so far, but no more witches in my men’s room. The cop nodded back, so perhaps he understood. “Okay, let’s have us a sit-down and see what’s what.” James motioned toward a booth. I didn’t want to be that close to either of those guys, so I pulled over a chair and sat at the end of their table, which put me in plain view of everybody in the joint. A very tired-looking waitress moved slowly toward our booth-plus-chair. With her pad and pen poised, she stared but didn’t actually ask for our order. “I’m buying tonight, Ethel. Three coffees.” He held up that many fingers as though the number needed visual aid. Ethel put away her pad and trudged back to the counter, some twenty feet distant, where the manager conferred with her briefly. With little care about spillage, Ethel poured three coffees, paused to wipe an obviously filthy limp towel around the rim of one cup, and brought the tray slowly to our booth. “Manager don’t want ya blockin’ th’ aisle.” Well, I certainly wasn’t going to sit with the corporal so I perched on the very edge of the buccaneer’s bench seat. The coffee cups looked slightly filmy and I prayed I hadn’t gotten the one with the recent rim-swipe. I added sweetener — half a pink packet — and stirred with a greasy fork. I took a sip — surprisingly good. Warmed all the way down my gullet and reminded me I was also hungry. I looked toward the counter at the glass rack with pie slices. Chocolate! Oh, that would be so nice right now. But no money. And I knew this officer wouldn’t spring for it. I couldn’t very well ask Captain Blood.

The swashbuckler sipped his black coffee a few times and then stared into the rising steam. “So, Corporal James, is there a way you can check our names from here, then let us go back to our vehicles at the armory? It’d be nice to put this entire thing behind us as soon as possible.” He didn’t use the word “matey” even once. No “avast” either.

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I hope you like this fifth sequential sample. The fourth was in my Mar. 16th blog last week ... the first three were in November last year [scroll back or click on the archives].

Well, folks, I’m finally returning to the Saturday Samples, and happy to have y’all visit this weekend.

For those who have seen any of my three previously-posted samples, you’ll understand they’ve been sequential, from the (more-or-less) beginning of my story, Rescued By That new Guy in Town.

This fourth sample picks up at the beginning of Chapter Three, immediately after the cop has apprehended Kristen Prima (in her sexy witch costume) and the handsome, mysterious new guy in town — who, so far, has not even revealed his actual name. He’s dressed as a pirate and both had been inadvertently left inside the abandoned armory building after the county-wide Halloween festival.

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“What’re you love birds doing out here by this back door?” The policeman had a pistol in one hand, a flashlight in the other, and his cruiser’s spotlight was still in our faces. I tried to shield my eyes. “We’re not love birds.” That cop was already on my wrong side. “Well, I just helped her outta jail and I was on my way home.” The pirate. “Jail-break, huh. I hadn’t heard anything about that yet.”He eyed my revealing costume. “No, Officer, you don’t understand. He didn’t mean prison jail, he meant the jail for community charity.” I pointed over my shoulder toward the huge overhead door to the motor pool bay. “You know, the big Halloween deal. Nobody paid my bail.” “No bail, you’re back in jail.” He waggled his pistol.“Move over to the vehicle and put your hands on the hood. Feet apart.” The pirate looked at me like I had something to do with this predicament. “Uh, Officer, this is all a mistake.” “Yep. Every person I’ve ever stopped says that very same thing.” His eyes moved from my bosom and surveyed my legs and stilettos. “But I’ve never caught a hooker and john at the armory before.” It took a second to register. “Hooker? I’m not a hooker, you idiot! I’m a witch!” I immediately regretted using the word idiot. As he cleared his throat, the policeman resumed his visual search of my bosom. Did he think I had any weapons in there? “So, who’s your john supposed to be?” “Well, I lost some of my stuff inside but the package said ‘Captain Blood’.” “What’s that about blood? Who’s inside?” The officer pressed the transmit button on his collar radio. “Dispatch? City Unit One-Six. Yeah, Corporal James…” I interrupted. “No. No blood. He’s a pirate, for heaven’s sake. You know: Halloween party. Witch. Pirate. You could have come as a Policeman.” Shut up, Kristen. James frowned as he muttered into his transmitter and listened to the reply. “Okay, Sarge said to bring you two in.” “In where? For what?” I sputtered. When you shiver and sputter at the same time, it sometimes sends flecks of spittle on nearby law enforcement. He reacted like he’d been poisoned. The corporal reached behind his back for cuffs and flipped them onto the pirate’s wrist. “Turn around real slow.” James flinched when he saw the rubber knife. He’d probably missed it before because he was so focused on me. “Hold real still.” He pulled the toy weapon from the pirate’s waistband like he was de-fanging a cobra. Then he stepped back and examined it. “Couldn’t afford a real knife?” The cop tossed it in the front seat. He finished patting down the pirate and turned to me. “Officer, you can take my word for it. I got nothing you need to pat me for.” I loosened another top button and held apart my lapels. He got a really good view of my cleavage and most of the front of the bustier. Then I un-tucked the hem of my blouse and revealed the waistband of my short skirt. “Uh, okay. Keep holding that up and turn around real slow.”He got a great look at my derrière too. “Well, under the circumstances, I guess you could say I patted you down.” Yeah, I could still feel the burning imprint of his eyes on my rump. “Stick out your hands.” I shivered as I rolled my eyes. What a nightmare. The policeman roughly clipped the other cuff on my wrist and I was tethered to the swashbuckler! “Hey!” James shrugged as he placed his flashlight back in the aluminum loop on his heavy belt. “I only got one pair, so you’ll have to share.” “Not necessary. Let the pirate have ‘em both. I promise I won’t go anywhere.” Couldn’t get far in those heels anyway, even if it wasn’t so cold outside. “I’ll be happy just to be inside your warm car.” “Well, head that way now, but you’re stayin’ cuffed. You say you’re not a hooker, but we’ll see what the Sarge says when he runs you in the database.”

I was cold, exhausted, and getting really ticked-off at everybody. Beginning with the co-volunteers who’d left me locked in a cage, the new guy in town who’d stumbled through my belated rescue, and the rather dense Verdeville cop who intended to drive us to his station. “What were you two doing back at that armory? Stealing? Vandalism? Making-out?” I just shook my head. “None of those. We both got locked in.” My seatmate spoke up. “Both of you?” The officer shook his head. “Don’t buy it. Maybe one person gets locked in, but not two.” “We did! Separately, of course.” I was near tears again. “One of you was sandbagging.” The corporal looked at me. “I don’t even know what that means but if anybody was bagging sand, it was this pirate!” I pointed in case it was necessary. James rubbed his chin. Sometimes it must be difficult to identify a sandbagger, whatever that is. “But anyhow, you refused to leave. That’s ‘entering and remaining’. You’ll need a lawyer if you don’t want to stay in jail overnight.” “I was working this event!” “Back to hooker. Get a good lawyer.”

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I hope you’ve enjoyed this excerpt enough to want to read more. For a look at my three previously posted samples, please scroll back to Nov. 2, 16, and 30 of last year. Or, of course, you could buy the book for $2.99:

J.L. Salter

I’ve been a writer since my first poems and stories during elementary school days.* co-author of two non-fiction monographs (about librarianship) with a royalty publisher, plus a chapter in another book and an article in a specialty encyclopedia* I've also published articles, book reviews, and over 120 poems * my writing has won nearly 40 awards, including several in national contests * as a newspaper photo-journalist, I published about 150 bylined newspaper articles, and some 100 bylined photos* Decorated veteran of U.S. Air Force (including a remote tour of duty in the Arctic … at Thule AB in N.W. Greenland).* worked nearly 30 years in the field of librarianship.* married parent of two and grandparent of six.